Down it was placed in the middle of the table.
First of all, the Nabob offered it to the heydukes one by one. They did not fancy it, and only shook their heads.
Then it came to the poet's turn.
"Pardon, gratia, your Excellency! I am composing verses on him who eats it."
"Well, you then, Vidra! Come, down with it, quick!"
"I, your Excellency?" said Vidra, as if he did not quite catch the words.
"Yes, you. What are you afraid of? While you were living in tents, one of my oxen went mad, and yet you and your people ate him!"
"True; and if one of your lordship's hogsheads of wine went mad I would drink it. That's another thing."
"Come, come, make haste! Do the dish honour!"
"But my grandfather had no quarrel with this animal."